


The Healer

by Bookwormgal



Series: Choices [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Healing, Angel and Demon True Forms (Good Omens), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Warlock Dowling, Blood and Injury, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Gen, Hastur Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Literal Sleeping Together, Love, Minor Character Death, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Revenge, Self Sacrificing Tendencies, Stabbing, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley's plan to essentially retired to Tadfield to finish raising Warlock would have gone so much better if Hastur wasn't a stubborn and vengeful demon. One who, through a miraculous spark of inspiration, realized that he could hurt Crowley by taking something precious away from him. Which was why Hastur ended up stabbing the angel with an occult blade and leaving him to expire permanently.Crowley, however, was also stubborn. And creative. And desperate.Desperate enough to risk summoning someone much better at healing, but with absolutely no reason to help him. But if it saved his angel, Crowley would try anything.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: Choices [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739542
Comments: 83
Kudos: 133
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Hurt Aziraphale





	1. Stabbing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I planned for my next fic in this series to be a more humorous and cheerful one. And I do intend to write it someday. But this idea hit hard and it had so much potential that I couldn't resist the temptation.
> 
> And yes, I know the irony of that statement in a fandom that has the original tempter demon as a main character. Regardless, I hope you enjoy the story.
> 
> Though if you haven't read "Chosen and Unchosen" first, I highly recommend it since this is a sequel to that fic. Otherwise you'll like be a bit confused about things.

There were certain advantages to being a Duke of Hell. One was that he could pull rank and get a new corporation ahead of the line. It wasn't instant, but Hastur managed to claim a corporeal body mere months after his previous one was discorporated in a frankly embarrassing incident.[1]

Unfortunately, things had changed during that time. Both traitors were back on Earth. Heaven refused to risk going against the Ineffable Plan by targeting the angel again. And the not-quite-Anti-Christ made a deal with the devil and claimed Crowley using holy water guns. Satan had no remaining claim on him. Crowley belonged to the child now.

Heaven was intent on ignoring their traitor and Hell couldn't easily drag Crowley down for further punishment without carefully considering the potential loopholes first. Deals with the devil were binding. Especially when Satan was the one who set the terms.

But Hastur couldn't let it go. He needed Crowley to suffer. For his involvement in Aren't-mageddon and for what he did to Ligur. And waiting for his new corporation gave him time to consider his options.

There were certain advantages to being a Duke of Hell.

Deep in Hell was an armory. One filled with weapons from the first War that they kept locked away for the War of Armageddon. It wasn't worth the risk of letting arguing demons turn those weapons against each other. The blades were crafted to harm both corporations and true forms. Rather like the flaming sword that once protected Eden or the sword that Michael still kept close for special occasions. The angels who remained in Heaven and those that later Fell both used those weapons during the Rebellion. The only real difference was that those that the demons retained were too tarnished to shine, though they remained just as sharp. Occult weapons kept sharp and ready for the day that they could finally slaughter all of Heaven.

Sneaking a thin dagger, razor sharp and deadly, was easy enough for him to accomplish. Finding a way to Earth was even easier.

Hastur rose out of the dirt of the forest floor, the borders between Earth and Hell a little weaker where the former Anti-Christ once created a secret entrance. He didn't appreciate the sunshine coming down through the colorful leaves, though the gray clouds on the horizon gave him hope for gloomier weather later. He knew that entering Tadfield was a dangerous move. But avoiding the former Anti-Christ's attention should be easy enough if he was careful. The boy didn't want anything to do with his powers anyway.

Going after Crowley directly wasn't a good option. That could wait until he was certain that he wouldn't incur Satan's displeasure by messing with that deal. As furious as Satan might be with the child, those deals were binding and no one was allowed to break them. But that didn't mean that Hastur couldn't extract _some_ form of revenge.

Crowley took away Hastur's preferred lurking partner. The ideal punishment would be to take away something precious from the traitor.

* * *

The setting sun cast a red light on a comfortable home and its surrounding garden. Autumn was firmly settled in place. The air held a nearly constant cool nip. Most of the plants in the garden were already changing colors or preparing to shrivel up to endure the eventual winter. The flowers and plants could have been intimidated into lingering longer, but it would take more effort and threats to make them bloom in cooler weather. And it wasn't worth the effort according to the local demon. It was easier to let them follow nature's rhythms. The resident demon had plenty of other plants inside to torment into a vibrant and terrified state.

A young teenager sprawled lazily on one of the benches in the garden, wearing a thick jumper that was more cozy than fashionable.[2] It was a Friday evening and he was purposefully avoiding starting his homework. Instead, he was listening to his iPod while waiting for his guardians to return. The angel was at a meeting of the Lower Tadfield Residents' Association while the demon was busy replacing every book in R. P. Tyler's household with cheap tawdry romance novels and flat-out erotica. The boy didn't know which one would cause the most chaos; Crowley's method was more immediately satisfying, but Aziraphale's meddling would drive R. P. Tyler into new heights of frustration for several months to come. He was procrastinating on his work because he wanted to hear the results.

The stone wall surrounding the front yard hid most of the property from prying eyes. And layers of demonic, angelic, and even human wards[3] that ensured that no one else from Heaven or Hell could set foot inside uninvited. Their home was meant to be safe.

Which was why Hastur was lurking outside the property. He had the patience of an ambush predator. And he was a champion lurker. He could wait however long that it might take.

The board was set. All the pieces were in place. It wouldn't take long for everything to unfold.

* * *

Aziraphale was smiling to himself as he walked home. The meeting went surprisingly well. He rarely got directly involved in the rather amusing feud between Crowley and R. P. Tyler, but that didn't mean that the angel couldn't contribute occasionally. After all the assignments that he'd covered for Crowley over the centuries, he'd gotten used to stirring up a little mischief on occasion. A few careful votes on key topics and bringing up some barely remembered bylaws would cause some ripple effects that would leave the man clenching his teeth in frustration in the spring. It was the type of plan that Crowley would adore. Complicated and wide-spread results with only the smallest amount of initial work. Aziraphale looked forward to explaining it to Crowley that night and seeing his impressed and proud smirk.

He was happy with their new lives together. Him, Crowley, and Warlock. A simple and domestic existence with no connection or obligation to Heaven or Hell. Aziraphale had a cozy home with comforting colors and music in every room, his bookshop in London to keep all the books that wouldn't fit in their house in Tadfield, a handful of human friends, a pair of godchildren, and the demon that he could finally love fully and openly. Even with the lingering issues of the past, Aziraphale wouldn't change what they had now.

Aziraphale walked along the country road, smiling to himself about his productive day and the beautiful sunset. He had no reason to pay attention to the faint sensation of something inhuman at the edges of his awareness. He lived in the same quaint village as a demon, a former Anti-Christ, and a hellhound. And after their last encounters with Heaven and Hell, there was no real reason in his mind to remain constantly on guard. He certainly wasn't paying enough attention to notice anything lurking.

Not until he reached the entrance to the front yard, only a few steps away from crossing the protective wards to safety. Aziraphale caught a brief glimpse of Warlock sitting up on the bench. Then a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and a sharp pain slid into his lower back and somewhere much deeper.

"A little surprise for Crawly," hissed a voice in his ear as Warlock screamed his name.

Hastur. The recognition and agony made Aziraphale gasp. When the demon ripped the sharp object out, the angel twisted around to slug Hastur in the face. The demon's head jerked back, but the blood-streaked dagger was already stabbing into Aziraphale's stomach.

Pain seemed to explode through him. Physical agony and something deeper. To his true form. He couldn't breathe enough to scream.

Aziraphale's hands fumbled, trying to grab the dagger to stop him. But Hastur was repeatedly stabbing him in a blur of motion. Fast and brutal. The blade plunged in and out. Piercing his chest, stomach, and into his true form in sharp bright flashes of pain.

Blood poured out as his thoughts grew cloudy and his head swam. And his true form writhed in agony from the damage.

His slippery hand managed to finally wrap about the hilt, twisting the dagger with all his strength to force it away. Aziraphale managed to swipe at the demon with it. A long shallow scratch was left on the snarling Hastur's arm before he could stop the angel.

But pain, blood loss, and numerous deep wounds to his true form took their toll. Before Aziraphale could wrestle the dagger completely away or escape, his legs gave out. He collapsed to the ground. And Hastur crouched beside him, stabbing the blade through the ribs and _twisted_.

Aziraphale's vision went white with overwhelming pain. He gasped weakly as blood tried to drown him, leaving him tasting copper. Unconsciousness tried to dig its claws into him to pull him under, leaving the angel struggling against the force. And his true form felt like he'd been torn to shreds. He couldn't concentrate enough for a miracle to combat the damage.

But somewhere he distantly heard someone yelling.

* * *

When a creepy and yet familiar demon suddenly stabbed Aziraphale without warning right outside their walled garden, Warlock did the smart thing and ran. He ran back into the house, nearly stumbling on the stairs and banging his knees roughly when he dove under his bed. Then the young teenager shoved himself back to his feet with a familiar piece of molded plastic in his hands. He practically leapt down the stairs two at a time.

He burst back outside, sprinting towards the demon looming over the downed angel. Warlock swung his chosen weapon around to the attack position even as he kept running.

"Hey, Poo Man! Leave him alone!"

Hastur's head snapped up. And his vicious snarl turned into pale panic as he spotted the water gun. Warlock knew that he didn't get to witness the boy's confrontation with Satan; he'd dealt with that particular demon immediately upon entering Hell. But gossip clearly warned Hastur about how Warlock used a water gun filled with holy water against the devil.

And with the knowledge of exactly what the boy was capable of when provoked, Hastur reacted in the most rational way. He yanked the long knife out of Aziraphale's chest and flung himself to his feet, running away from the obvious threat. He'd clearly finished what he wanted to do anyway and had no interest in being melted into goo.

As soon as the danger was gone, Warlock tossed away the empty toy.[4] Then he grabbed the angel's shoulders and dragged him the short distance into the garden. Behind the protective wards were Hastur wouldn't be able to reach him again.

He didn't want to look at the dark stains ruining Aziraphale's coat and vest. He didn't want to see the streak of blood that moving him left behind on the dying grass. Because it looked terrifying and awful. And he couldn't afford to panic.

"It's all right," said Warlock firmly.[5] "You'll be all right."

But he wasn't truly the Anti-Christ and couldn't twist reality to his Expectations. Not on Earth and not without Adam's support. Not beyond the smallest tricks and subtlest things like his Dreams and escaping notice. And he certainly couldn't reverse the deep stab wounds pouring out blood, Aziraphale weakly pressing at them in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Which was why Warlock fumbled desperately at the angel's coat pocket. He yanked out the cheap flip-phone that Crowley insisted that Aziraphale carry. The angel never used it to call anyone, but he would answer if Crowley called when he felt antsy. But Warlock quickly dialed the number while ignoring the blood now smeared on his hand and the mobile phone. He couldn't afford to panic. He held the phone while he used his free hand to help apply pressure.

After a couple of rings that seemed to last an eternity, but took almost no time, the line picked up.

"Angel?" said Crowley, confusing and growing concern clear in his voice. Aziraphale _never_ called using his mobile. "What's—"

"Nanny, _help!_ " shouted Warlock into the speaker before tossing the phone aside.

For a second, all that he could hear were the gasping whimpers and a tinny voice yelling questions through the mobile. Then there was a strange pop of something materializing as Crowley practically dove through the phone, stumbling slightly on the landing.

He was wearing his sunglasses. But Warlock had a lifetime of observing those features and sunglasses didn't hide the way his face shifted into a look of absolute horror.

* * *

"Angel!"

Crowley's first inkling of dread when he saw Aziraphale's mobile number on the caller ID turned into fear when he heard Warlock's panicked voice. And the fear turned into absolute terror and horror when he traveled through the phone signal to reach a scene from his worst nightmares.

Literally. He'd experienced weeks of continuous nightmares of very similar scenarios. Of Aziraphale lying sprawled limply, wounded and bleeding. He didn't know what happened, but it was all that Crowley could do to avoid freaking out completely as he stumbled over to the injured angel.

"I've got you," he murmured, pulling Aziraphale away from the shaking Warlock and cradling him close. "I'll fix everything. Just let me heal you."

Outside of the highest authority within their own realm, demons and angels couldn't use their powers directly on each other. Not unless their target allowed it. And that included healing. But even if he was struggling to stay awake through the obvious pain and blood loss, Aziraphale lowered his natural defenses. Giving Crowley permission and the opening that he needed to help his angel.

Crowley gathered together as much demonic energy as he could and sent a healing miracle into the pale and barely conscious angel. He looked almost grey and there was so much blood coming from more deep wounds than he could count. But Crowley needed to keep him from discorporating. If his angel lost his corporeal body and returned to Heaven, he would never get Aziraphale back. Crowley pressed his hand to the ruined fabric and tried to focus on the deep cuts.

Then, through his mounting panic and sickening fear, Crowley realized that there was something about the dark stains that was off. A slight golden sheen to the red substance, barely noticeable by the light of the setting sun. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. And the realization made Crowley cold.

Ichor. Damage to his true form bleeding through[6] to the physical plane in the form of ichor mixed with his blood.

Crowley took a Look towards Aziraphale's true form. And immediately bit back a terrified whine of absolute horror. Aziraphale Looked completely _shredded_. His angel reminded him of the first War, when everyone was attacking and tearing each other apart. A celestial blade had sliced away at Aziraphale until he was barely recognizable. Or an occult one. The specifics didn't matter because they were essentially the same weapons. Just names for the different sides.

"No, no, no," he whispered.

Discorporation, while still a threat, was no longer his greatest concern. Aziraphale could die from that. A true death. The end of his existence.

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't lose him. He turned his power towards the deeper wounds.

Eyes pressed closed in agony, Aziraphale leaned his head towards him. Crowley felt him shudder in his arms.

"Hang in there, angel," said Crowley. "Keep breathing and stay with me. I can fix this."

" _Hurts_ …"

Goosebumps formed on Crowley as he tried not to shudder. That wasn't Aziraphale's normal speaking voice. It wasn't a sound that came from his corporation. It was something felt more than heard. Something that couldn't be noticed on the physical plane. That was Aziraphale's angelic voice.

True angelic voices, those that did not require vocal cords to produce and not bound by the limitations of their human-shaped physical bodies, were melodious and beautiful things meant for singing about Her. Those that Fell tended to damage or lose those voices. The more fortunate ones ended up with hoarse, guttural, and rough voices that could never be raised in song again. Crowley could manage a ragged croak still. He didn't end up effectively mute outside of the physical plane after the Fall.

Aziraphale's angelic voice was impossibly beautiful to the point that it hurt the demon to hear it. But even with that beauty, he sounded weak and pained. The sound broke Crowley's heart. His angel was hurting and he needed to fix it.

"I know it hurts. I know," said Crowley, managing to shakily brush back his pale hair from his ashen face. "It'll stop soon. I'll make it stop."

Crowley pulled in more power from the depths of Hell, more than he'd attempted to use in a couple of years. Certainly more than he'd used since he was nearly worn away and shattered by the strain of those endless nightmare loops. Enough power that he was light-headed by the current strain. And he turned that power towards healing the dying angel's true form.

There was an eel-shaped creature that lived at the bottom of the ocean called a hagfish. Unremarkable to look at and not that clever, the hagfish was most well-known for their unique defensive strategy. The long, thin, and wiggling creatures possessed the ability to produce enough slime to fill a large bucket in less than a minute. The copious amounts of slime would make it difficult for predators or curious humans to grasp the small creatures.

Crowley's attempt to keep Aziraphale's corporeal body from expiring while trying to heal the grave injuries to his true form were as difficult as holding onto half a dozen squirming and wiggling hagfish. Or, to use a more accurate analogy, it was like holding half a dozen squirming and wiggling hagfish while trying to tie the slime-producing creatures together and knowing that dropping a single one in the process would be a fatal mistake.

True forms were harder to heal than corporations. And Crowley was nearly shaking with the strain, stress, and absolute horror of living through his worst nightmare. Despite how hard he was trying to heal the deep wounds to the angel's corporeal and true forms, it felt like he was only managing to hold his ground. There was too much. He couldn't seem to make any real progress.

Crowley clenched his teeth to fight back the feeling of sobs trying to climb up his throat. He couldn't lose Aziraphale. He couldn't go through that again. Not for real. But he couldn't save him. He could feel the strain threatening to tear at old injuries and weak points, where the nightmare loops nearly destroyed him a few months ago. Before that point, Crowley could keep his burning Bentley together all the way to Tadfield and then pull them outside of time and reality briefly. And now he couldn't even save his angel.

Not alone.

That thought sparked a desperate and terrifying idea. The product of his wild and frantic imagination. Crowley knew how dangerous it was and how incredibly stupid he was to even consider it. There would be consequences. But he didn't have many good options.

Looking up at the pale face of Warlock, feeling a quick twinge of guilt through the panic and terror, Crowley said, "Hellspawn, I need you to grab a book. John Dee's ' _De Heptarchia Mystica._ ' The unedited version. In the library, fourth shelf, third row down, fifth volume.[7] Get it fast."

Warlock took off running towards their home, not even hesitating. Crowley forced himself to let go of a tiny amount of the demonic power that he was using to keep his angel alive. Just enough to let the dead grass burn in specific patterns before extinguishing, leaving clear lines for a summoning circle behind.

He'd heard about John Dee back in the day. The man knew about summoning angels, but it was more like a polite invitation or a supernatural phone call. Not forcibly yanking them somewhere like people did with demons. They had a choice in the matter. Most humans would be afraid to treat an angel the same way that they would a demon. At least the ones who thought that they were good people were.

But angels and demons came from the same basic stock. It was just names for the sides. In theory, there was no reason why a summoning circle for demons couldn't work for an angel. There was no reason why it couldn't force an angel to show up. He just needed to right symbols for the angel in question. And that meant doublechecking with the book. He couldn't afford any mistakes.

"It's going to be okay, Aziraphale,' he murmured, pressing a shaky kiss to the angel's forehead. "I'll make sure that you'll be okay."

Aziraphale needed more than Crowley could give him. He needed someone powerful and capable of repairing the deep gashes in the angel's true form. Aziraphale needed a healer. A real one. And Crowley was going to get him the best one possible.

* * *

As an Archangel associated with healing and some humans feeling uncomfortable beseeching Her directly, Raphael was used to humans sending him prayers to help with sickness and injuries. Any angel could use miracles to perform such healing, but he was the one with the reputation for them. There were other healers under in command in his ward in Heaven. And some were very good. But he was the best. And Raphael was the name that humans knew and recognized.

There was also a time frame where humans tried to contact angels more directly. Light and delicate summoning spells that were used as more direct method of asking angels for help. A more personal invitation to encourage a response. He recalled a rather odd human named John Dee who was particularly fond of it, often contacting Uriel to speak with them on various things. While not usually invited like that, Raphael was familiar with such methods.

But having some unknown power latch onto his true form and yank the Archangel out of Heaven, stumbling painfully before he caught himself with his cane,[8] was a new experience. And one that he immediately disapproved of.

He was a _healer_. He could not afford to be interrupted without warning. Most of his patients over the last several thousand years were only suffering from minor injuries from training accidents.[9] But that didn't mean that Raphael could afford to be pulled away from his healing ward without warning. No one could plan for emergencies.

The foretold Apocalypse, and all the gravely wounded angels being brought into his ward on the verge of dying that it would bring, might have been thankfully postponed, but Raphael was too cynical to believe that the violent assaults and murders would never happen. Angels and demons would go to War again. He had to be prepared.

Raphael glared down at the lines of the scorched circle. Power hummed through the symbols that spoke of binding, limitations, and his full name and titles. Someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to trap him and lock away his angelic abilities. He wasn't one for smiting, but Raphael suddenly felt tempted to smack someone's skull with his cane.

Then he turned his attention beyond the borders of the summoning circle. Raphael couldn't use his more angelic senses to properly Look but he could see a human boy. A half-grown one with dark hair, the slightly clammy skin and wide-eyed appearance suggesting emotional shock, but no other obvious injuries or afflictions. More concerning were the two figures in front of the human.

Kneeling in front of the circle burned into the dry grass, and a slightly blood-smeared book next to him, was a demon. Even without access to his more angelic senses and abilities, Raphael could recognize a demon when he saw one. Red-haired, dressed in black, and wearing dark glasses, he stared up at Raphael like he was facing down a dangerous threat. Which was a smart decision. Raphael might be a healer, but he was still an Archangel and the highest authority and power within his healing ward. He could be a dangerous force if provoked.

And the demon didn't seem to be in the best condition to fight. He was pale and shaking slightly. Perhaps from fear and nerves. But Raphael suspected from the strain. Because even if he couldn't See for certain while trapped in the circle, Raphael could tell that most of the demon's focus wasn't on the Archangel. It was on the angel in his arms, the demon's hand pressed tightly to his chest.

A heavily bleeding angel. Unconscious. Ashen complexion. Labored breathing. Multiple lacerations to the upper and middle torso region. Guaranteed injuries to multiple internal organs. Blood flecked on his lips to suggest at least some level of a punctured lung. And the amount of blood already clearly spilled on the ground and the demon holding him meant that a human would be dying and an angel would be on the verge of discorporating.

But they wouldn't risk summoning him for a mere discorporation. Not if the angel and demon were who Raphael suspected that they were. And there were not that many other angel and demon pairs that would be openly obvious about their association. Whatever happened, he doubted that the demon was the one who harmed the angel and then summoned Raphael. And he also suspected that there were other injuries that he couldn't yet See.

" _That's_ Raphael?" asked the child quietly. "Expected something more impressive."

An understandable reaction. He didn't dress in stylish suits like many of his fellow angels. Nor did he keep the flowing robes that humans still tried to portray them in. He found that a white lab coat with numerous pockets to be more practical. And while he'd worn young-looking corporations at one point, his current one was not that of a young man. He was aware that his greying hair and silver eyes didn't make the greatest impact. Nor did the limp that came from the ancient scars left twisted through his true form, the sloppy work of an inexperienced healer doing their best to preserve his existence. But Raphael rarely cared about what kind of impression that he made. It only mattered that he got the job done.

"Warlock," said the demon, never looking away from the Archangel, "go back inside and don't come out no matter what happens."

Raphael briefly assumed that meant the boy was some form of a magic user before realizing that was the human's actual _name_. An odd choice, but Raphael wasn't current when it came to certain human traditions like naming conventions.

The boy hesitated, but reluctantly obeyed. Only after the door of the house closed behind the human did the demon finally address the Archangel.

"Raphael, Archangel of Healing, Angel of the Trumpet… I beseech you to grant your healing upon Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth," he said solemnly, panting through the words. "The circle in which you are bound ensures that you cannot depart while it is intact until you agree a service for the summoner. One that you must perform. I humbly ask that you heal Aziraphale, preserving his life. And after he is healed, he remains free and safe from Heaven. No imprisonment, punishment, or bindings of any kind. He is to be left alone by Heaven afterwards."

That was enough to confirm Raphael's suspicions. They were the rumored pair of traitors involved in disrupting Armageddon.

"I can read the sigils as well," said Raphael, letting some of his annoyance over the abrupt summons and the awkward position that he was in bleed into his words. "They cannot compel me to do anything without a bargain. Insurance for the demons such summons were designed for. You have only described half of a bargain. What were you intending to offer when you interrupted me like that? I doubt you called for me without something already planned, Tempter."

"Myself."

Brow furrowing, he asked, "Excuse me?"

Bowing his head in a clear sign of surrender, the demon said shakily, "Anthony J. Crowley. The Serpent of Eden. The Original Tempter. Traitor of the Apoca-Oops— _Apocalypse_."

He took a deep breath, hunching over Aziraphale protectively in a way that would have him mantling the wounded angel if his wings were visible. Guarding the angel while offering himself up, completely vulnerable to the Archangel.

"If you save Aziraphale, then you can do whatever you wish with me. I will let you kill me. Or you can take me up to Heaven to torture, imprison, enslave, or anything else that you want. Turn me over to Gabriel for a public execution. Have Sandalphon rip off my wings. Let every angel practice stabbing me for the apocalypse. Or give me over to Hell if you don't want to dirty your hands yourself. I won't fight back, resist, or try to escape. As long as you save Aziraphale, I'm yours to do with as you wish."

"Your life in exchange for the life of an angel?" asked Raphael, still keeping his voice even.

Crowley raised his head. The dark glasses hid most of his expression. But Raphael could see a faint wetness of his pale skin.

"That's all I have to offer. He's worth far more, but that's all that I have," said Crowley quietly. "Please… Can you save him? I'm not strong enough… I can't…"

Raphael was silent for a moment, leaning heavily on his cane. Then he eased his way down to the ground as close to the pair as the summoning circle would allow. He sat there, considering his choice.

"I cannot promise that. I can't promise to save him. Not until I can properly examine the patient and the extent of his injuries," said Raphael finally. "I need you to break the summoning circle first to let me See him."

Tightening his arm protectively around the unconscious angel, Crowley asked, "Do I look like an idiot? First rule of summoning is never break the circle until you have a deal firmly in place."

"And how long do you think that you can keep Aziraphale from discorporating? Or judging by how desperate you must have been to summon me, from losing his existence fully? You are clearly exhausted and under tremendous strain. If you had any other option available, you would have taken it already. You're backed into a corner and have no other choice."

Crowley gritted his teeth at Raphael's words. But then he looked back down at Aziraphale, his breathing hitching slightly.

Raphael continued, "I can promise that if you release me, nothing will hurt Aziraphale further. He will be a patient under my care and protection. I can't promise that he is within my ability to save, but I will do what I can to help him."

The demon hesitated a moment longer. Then one blood-stained hand jerked forward to tear through a large chunk of scorched grass and dirt, breaking the circle. And the instant that he had full access to his powers again, Raphael paused time.

Not an ability that most angels bothered to develop properly, but he found it useful for triage and diagnosing the extent of injuries.

Raphael noticed the momentary flash of panic on the demon's face when Aziraphale stopped his weak gasps until Crowley realized that time was paused around them. He also noticed the strong, warm, and bright love radiating from Crowley. Which was certainly interesting, but not what Raphael needed to focus on.

When he Looked at his patient, Raphael took note of every deep laceration. The work of an occult weapon. Serious enough wounds that the angel was unlikely to survive. The kind of injuries that ended numerous angels on both sides during the first War, often before a healer could reach them. Aziraphale should have slipped away in the timespan that Raphael was in the circle or even before he was summoned. The demon's stubbornness was the only reason that Aziraphale wasn't gone already.

With time paused, Crowley no longer needed to put all his energy into preserving the angel. He'd slumped tiredly while Raphael Looked over the patient. The demon was too pale and panting too hard. Raphael suspected that he was experiencing some backlash from trying to use a continuous and particularly powerful miracle, far more than he could normally handle. His corporation suffering from nausea, weakness, and exhaustion would be the side effect of such a thing. That would pass with rest. Raphael could also See evidence that Crowley straining his power and true form beyond his limits was not a new occurrence. If he Saw those signs of past strain on an angel in Heaven, Raphael would order them to his healing ward for a proper examination.

But his patient was the angel, not the demon. The wounded, dying, and traitorous angel. Raphael was quite aware that his fellow Archangels would take advantage of his current state. He was aware that they would claim that it was smarter and kinder to let the angel pass in peace.

Then again, none of them were healers. And the demon was not the only one who could be stubborn. Raphael was not one to give up on a patient without at least trying his best.

* * *

Crowley was shaking as he held the motionless angel in his arms. From exhaustion, from the fear of losing Aziraphale, and from the dread of what his offer might eventually mean. But he didn't have any indication of going back on his decision. He was exhausted and at the mercy of an Archangel. And if it saved Aziraphale, it would be worth it.

Though the angel would never forgive him. Crowley knew that. Aziraphale told him that he never wanted Crowley to sacrifice himself for the angel. He didn't want Crowley to give his life for Aziraphale's life. The angel made that very clear. And Crowley told him that he would never leave Aziraphale. But now Crowley was doing exactly that. Aziraphale would never forgive him for doing it, but at least he would be alive to be upset.

Raphael slowly looked up from Aziraphale and met Crowley's gaze through the sunglasses. There was a change in his clinical and mildly annoyed expression that made something in Crowley twist sharply.

"Aziraphale's condition is very serious," said Raphael. "Many angels during the War succumbed to similar injuries, even with a healer. I will do what I can to save him. You have my word as an angel of the Lord. And if he cannot be saved, then I will ensure that he experiences no further pain when he is entrusted into Azrael's care."

Crowley swallowed past the tight knot in his throat. But he couldn't give up on Aziraphale. His angel was stronger than that.

"I will need to take the patient to the healing ward," he continued carefully, clearly recognizing that the statement would not go over well. "In Heaven."

Pulling his angel closer to his chest, Crowley hissed, "Over my dead body."

The part of Crowley that had been screaming _he's dying, you didn't protect him, you can't save him, you failed him_ since he arrived home started shrieking _don't let him go, you'll lose him, you'll never see him again_. He couldn't let Aziraphale go back up to Heaven. They would never let Aziraphale go. They would trap him up there forever and never let the angel come back to Earth. And that would break Aziraphale. They'd trap him in that place until the whiteness and silent broke him further. Even if the angel survived, it would destroy everything precious about him.

"The patient is in no state to willing allow me to heal him. I cannot ask him," said Raphael patiently. "While technically a part of Heaven, the healing ward is essentially its own realm within it. And there is no higher authority or power there other than Her. I can command anyone in the healing ward and they will obey. I was granted that authority and power specifically to let me heal those unable to respond. Since I cannot force him to let me heal him here and he cannot give permission, that is the only way to help him."

He was right. Even before time was paused, Aziraphale wasn't conscious enough anymore to allow Raphael's help. Crowley knew that he was right. And he hated it.

"I swear on all my faith in Her that I only intend to take Aziraphale to heal him and nothing more," he promised. "Please let me do my job and save my patient. That is what you wanted, correct?"

Crowley stared at him in shock, not even breathing. That was not a promise that any angel would make and certainly not lightly. Breaking such a promise implied that their faith in Her was equally fragile. From there, it wasn't that far of a journey to actively Falling. At least, that was the common fear that such a thing would lead to. A danger that no angel would risk. If there was anything that Raphael could say to make Crowley believe him, that promise would be it.

It was hardest thing that he'd ever done and it broke his heart into sharp fragile fragments, but Crowley reluctantly transferred Aziraphale from his arms to the Archangel. Raphael shifted the motionless angel as he sat on the ground, working to find a way to hold his cane without dropping the frozen-in-time Aziraphale. After some adjustments, he seemed satisfied and looked back at Crowley.

"I will return with news of his condition when I know more and can see how he responds to treatment," said Raphael briskly. "You may want to shut your eyes."

That was all the warning there as before a bolt of lightning and an explosion of thunder struck directly in front of him. Temporarily blind and deaf, Crowley scrambled backwards in a flailing panic. After a few moments, his senses returned and he realized two important facts.

Time was flowing again. And both Raphael and Aziraphale were gone.

His fragile composure shattered now that he had nothing left to focus on. All the fear, trauma, grief, and pain struck hard. It took his unnecessary breath away. And he couldn't shove all those emotions away to concentrate on helping. Not anymore. All that he could do was spiral down into the horrible feeling of helplessness and loss. It already felt like Aziraphale was gone forever. Like he was already dead. And it tore at him like claws.

It took a moment for Crowley to recognize that the broken keening of a wounded animal was coming from himself.

His hands and clothes were still stained with Aziraphale's drying blood. The sight was nearly as nauseating as the backlash from the massive, prolonged, and intense miracle. But Crowley didn't have the strength to banish the blood. All that he could do was curl in on himself, arms wrapping around to hold his shaking body together. He could barely breathe. It kept catching roughly in his chest.

Aziraphale was gone and he might never see him again. His angel was in Heaven and dying. And he wouldn't know until it was too late and Raphael told him that he no longer existed. Or perhaps the Archangel would never return with news after all. But regardless, there was nothing that Crowley could do for him now. And it was like every one of those vivid nightmares were hitting him at the same time. He desperately wanted it to be another nightmare. Something that wasn't real and would eventually end.

"Wake up," he whispered. "Let me wake up. Please let me wake up." Crowley pressed his eyes shut, feeling cold tears cutting sharp lines down his face as the sun slipped below the horizon and night truly fell. "Please wake up."

* * *

1 It involved a book, a stairway, a broken neck, and a boy calling him "Poo Man." [ ↑ ]

2 Now that he no longer had to be worried about how his appearance would reflect on his father, Warlock had begun experimenting a bit more with how he looked and what he wore. Some of his fashion decisions were better than others. But it was a learning curve and Crowley was at least relieved that he hadn't worn anything tartan. _Yet_. [ ↑ ]

3 Anathema turned out to be good at wards. Something that Agnes Nutter never mentioned in her prophecies to her descendant but was quite aware and proud of regardless. [ ↑ ]

4 Neither Warlock nor Aziraphale would ever be comfortable keeping any actual holy water in the same household as Crowley. It felt too much like tempting fate and they could still gain access to it if necessary. Warlock was merely thankful that he could bluff effectively. [ ↑ ]

5 Shakily. [ ↑ ]

6 An unintentional pun that Crowley would have immediately hated if he noticed. [ ↑ ]

7 Crowley would never admit to anyone that he understood and memorized the angel's organization system. A tricky accomplishment with how regularly Aziraphale liked to rearrange them and would switch them out with the books in the shop. But Crowley knew how to pay attention to the things that were important. [ ↑ ]

8 Raphael once used a staff, both as a defensive weapon when forced to visit the Earth and as an aid to walk. The first War left its marks even on the Archangel of Healing and the damage always managed to bleed through to his corporations. But a cane was more practical for mobility and he preferred it. [ ↑ ]

9 Michael tended to be rough during sparring sessions. [ ↑ ]


	2. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear that someday I'll get a happy/funny fic to add to this series again like I did with Brother Hamster. Unfortunately, this is not that fic (nor will the one that I just planned). But at least they got Aziraphale to a healer. That's good, right?

Warlock stayed in the house just as Crowley told him. Even when a bolt of lightning struck and night fell, he stayed inside. He scrubbed his hands clean and yanked off his jumper with the blood splattered on the sleeves. And when he looked out the window and saw only Crowley kneeling in the darkness, unmoving and alone, Warlock crept back to his room. Despite his turbulent thoughts and emotions, the boy crawled into bed.

There was very little that he could do. And while he couldn't control or even induce the arrival of his Dreams, he could hope. A glimpse of the immediate past or the future might offer some helpful insight.

Sleep came for him, ushered in by a few more orchestrative songs on his iPod. And he managed to remain asleep for several hours. When Warlock woke up, he quickly scribbled down everything that he remembered from his Dream. Then, looking over what he wrote, Warlock made a decision.

It wasn't that hard of a decision.

The darkness and chill of the night made him shiver as he stepped outside. Warlock headed to the motionless figure still kneeling on the ground, arms curled around himself and golden eyes staring at nothing.[10] The empty and broken expression made something in him twist. It wasn't right to see the demon in that state and it wasn't right that the angel was gone. Nothing was right.

"Nanny?" he said quietly, reaching for his hand.

Crowley blinked slowly, trying to focus on more than the horrors of his own mind and his churning emotions. His hand felt cold to the touch. Too cold for a demon who appreciated heat and warmth as much as he did. He'd been there for hours, not noticing the change in temperature. That told Warlock everything that he needed to know about his mental state. It told him how worried Crowley was about Aziraphale.

"Come on," continued Warlock as he pulled him to his feet. "It's late and cold out here. How about you get inside and get cleaned up? Take a warm bath?"

He took a shaking breath and swallowed, nodding slowly as Crowley tried to regain his composure. His yellow eyes gradually shrank back down until Warlock could see the whites around the irises. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses and settled them back on his face. Then he let the boy pull him back towards the house.

"Aziraphale… He'll be all right," said Crowley quietly. "Raphael is Heaven's best healer. And we have a deal. He'll be all right."

He didn't sound completely certain about it. But they both wanted to believe it. They wanted to believe that Aziraphale would be all right. They needed to believe that. But they couldn't do anything more to help him. They could only wait.

Well, Warlock planned to do more than wait. His Dream showed him exactly what he should do. He just needed to take care of his godparent first.

"He'll be home soon," he agreed. "But you don't want to worry him. Let's get you warmed up properly and clean up everything, okay?"

Giving Warlock a weak smile that did nothing to hide his grief, Crowley said, "I thought that I was supposed to be the one taking care of you, hellspawn."

"Someone needs to keep an eye on you until he gets back."

Warlock waited until he heard the water running in the master bathroom. That should give him some time while Crowley cleaned off the dried blood and warmed up his reptilian self. Only when he was certain that the demon would be all right did Warlock head out.

He reclaimed his toy water gun from the front yard. Then, bundling up all his emotions and pushing them out of the way for the moment, he slipped into the Bentley and eased it out of the garage.[11] Navigating the roads of Tadfield at three in the morning would be easier with headlights, but he didn't have the patience to find the switch. But he was a boy on a mission and couldn't be stopped. He simply drove slowly.

After a brief stop at the church, Warlock urged the car as close to the woods as he could manage. Then he parked and slipped out silently. He walked across the dead leaves in the dark. He knew that he should be making a distracting amount of noise, but he also knew that no one would pay him any attention regardless. He was easy to ignore. Warlock quietly followed the directions that his Dream provided. He knew what he needed to do.

The demon was there, scowling and nursing a long shallow cut. An injury from his attack. Hastur lurked in the forest, either not wanting to return to Hell while injured or planning to finish the job if Aziraphale survived. He was exactly where the Dream had shown him to be. He didn't notice anyone approaching. No one ever noticed when Warlock wanted to be ignored. He lurked there, not suspecting a thing.

There was no warning. Because he didn't give Aziraphale any warning.

Warlock fired holy water at him. A powerful blast of it from his newly-refilled water gun. And he watched Hastur immediately melt away with a sudden scream of horror and pain. It was over in seconds.

The boy was raised to care for all living things, but also to crush his enemies beneath his heel. That type of upbringing left its marks. He cared deeply for a handful of people and could be brutally protective of them. Hastur tried to kill someone important to Warlock. And there were consequences for such things.

Warlock stared at the damp smear on the ground for a moment. Cold. Remorseless. And without a single regret for Hastur's fate. Then he stepped on it, grinding his foot on what was left of the demon. The gesture felt right.

"You hurt Aziraphale," he said quietly. "You tried to kill him and that almost broke Nanny's heart. I won't let you hurt my family again."

He thought that dealing with Hastur would make him feel better. He thought he would feel better when they were safer. But he didn't. Not really. He didn't really regret committing his first murder since it was to keep everyone safe, but he also didn't feel proud of his actions. It was simply something that he needed to do. It was the best option. And at least it was over quickly; he didn't make anyone suffer for very long.

Picking up the occult dagger from where Hastur dropped it during his melting,[12] he quietly wandered his way back out of the forest. He climbed back into the Bentley. And with the steady beat from "Another One Bites the Dust" pounding out of the speakers, Warlock coaxed the car towards home.

He didn't try to park the Bentley back in the garage. Warlock couldn't guarantee that the sound would be covered up by running water this time and he didn't want to explain what he was doing with the car in the middle of the night. Crowley might encourage him to cause trouble and break rules, but stealing the Bentley to go out to kill a Duke of Hell might be pushing things.

He hid both the water gun and the knife under the bench in the garden before slipping back inside. Warlock winced at every creak as he crept in. The cottage was too dark and too quiet. None of the radios were playing. There was no angel sitting in the library while listening to classical music nor was he upstairs reading in bed. It felt wrong. And it felt harder to sneak back into his room with the deathly silence hanging over the place.

But he knew that he could do it. No one ever noticed Warlock when he wanted to be ignored. Not when he Expected to remain unobserved. That particular trick would always make it easier to sneak his way back into his room.

Until he stepped into his bedroom to find Crowley sitting on the edge of the bed. Waiting for him.

" _Nanny_ ," he yelped, jumping in surprise. "Feeling better after your bath?"

Gesturing for the boy to join him, Crowley said evenly, "I should probably be encouraging teenage rebellion like sneaking out in the middle of the night, but I don't think either of us are in the mood for that. This was something else. Probably something dangerous. Please tell me that you weren't breaking into Heaven or Hell again."

"Sorry." Warlock sat down next to him and gave the demon a tired shrug. "I didn't go far. I was just… fixing things."

"What kind of things?"

Shrugging again as he stared down at the floor, he said, "Making sure that Hastur can't hurt you or Aziraphale again."

"What did you _do_?"

"I crushed my enemy beneath my heel, Nanny."

After a moment, Crowley's arm snaked around and pulled him into a hug. A tight and almost desperate hug, the boy's face buried into his shoulder. Holding him close as if he expected Warlock to disappear like Aziraphale did.

All the tangled emotions that he'd shoved down came bubbling back to the surface. Everything from the last several hours tried to swallow him whole. Aziraphale getting stabbed, Crowley nearly breaking down from it, and executing Hastur. It was too much. He didn't even know what he was feeling except it was too much. Warlock just wanted to stay in that safe and tight embrace.

Running his hand through the boy's hair, Crowley said, "You could have been killed. Hastur was never one to show mercy. It is impressive, taking down a Duke of Hell, but we could have lost you. And I can't… Not both of you. I need you both to be safe. You need to be more careful. I can't always protect you two if I'm not there."

"I'm sorry that I worried you," he said. "But I'm not sorry that he's gone." Squeezing a little tighter, Warlock said, "And Aziraphale isn't gone, right? There's still a chance that Raphael can help him."

"Yesss," hissed Crowley quietly. Taking a shaky breath, he slowly released the hug. "He'll be home soon. I'm sure of it. Until then, you should get some more sleep."

Warlock grumbled wordlessly as the demon pushed him down on the bed. Crowley pulled the blanket over him while humming a familiar lullaby. It reminded him of when Warlock was five. Apparently he would never be too old to be tucked into bed by his nanny.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. He refused to even try. Crowley couldn't risk the nightmares waiting for him. There would be no one waiting to wake him up. And Crowley knew exactly what he would see in his nightmares. He would see Aziraphale, pale and bleeding from numerous cuts to his corporation and his true form. He would see the angel dying in his arms while Crowley struggled and failed to heal him. Crowley knew that's what he would see because that's what he saw when he closed his eyes. That mental image had kept him trapped in front of the cottage for hours, unable to move or think until Warlock pulled him out of it.

Sleeping was not an option.

Cleaning off the blood and ichor helped. As did letting the warmth sink into his chilled body. But Crowley couldn't shake it off. He couldn't get past the grief, guilt, and feeling of loss and despair weighing him down. Which was why, after he finished tucking Warlock back into bed and coaxing him off to sleep again, he wandered back down to the library. The room felt the most like the angel, the lingering scent almost comforting.

If Raphael failed, Crowley would never see his angel again. He would lose him. And if Raphael managed to save Aziraphale, then Crowley would still never see the angel again. Because that was the deal. Crowley's life in exchange for Aziraphale. The demon was the one who would be gone forever. Maybe dead, maybe imprisoned, or maybe tortured for the rest of eternity. Regardless, no matter what happened, Crowley and Aziraphale would be separated.

Crowley silently wandered among the shelves. Breathing in the remaining scent from the angel. Trying to memorize everything about Aziraphale while he still could. It did nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

If Aziraphale survived… Crowley knew that he might not have a chance to exchange any last words. It depended on how quickly Raphael claimed his reward. And if that did happen, then Aziraphale deserved something. An explanation. An apology. A farewell. _Something_.

He found a piece of parchment and a pen that the angel had kept stashed away.[13] And with some careful consideration, Crowley slowly wrote out a letter for the angel. One that he nearly tossed away half a dozen times. It was hard to find the right words. It was hard to know what he wanted to say or what Aziraphale would need to hear. But he finished it. The effort took until dawn and left a lump in his throat, but he managed to write everything down.

Then, wiping away the dampness on his face, Crowley added a little sealing wax before miracling up his old signet ring to finish it off. He remembered enough about those days to do the job right. A small and neat seal in the appropriate colors. Aziraphale deserved those small touches.

The early morning light shone through the windows, creeping along the walls as time passed. Warlock should have been stirring, but he'd had a long and stressful night. Sneaking off to apparently vanquish Hastur could wear a boy out. And Crowley had no intentions of waking him up. Just because the demon couldn't risk sleeping without undoubtedly suffering vivid nightmares didn't mean that he would deny the boy his rest. Crowley simply waited quietly as the sun continued to move across the sky.

Though waiting was a new kind of torture. He didn't know when he would find out anything. Raphael told him that he would let Crowley know how Aziraphale was doing, but he didn't offer a time frame. It could be hours. Days. Maybe even weeks. And Crowley would be stuck in that anxious and stressful mental state, twisting himself into knots inside his head. He would be trapped like that until he found out what happened to his angel.

Crowley lost track of time until Warlock came downstairs, preparing some toast for himself and pushing an apple into the demon's hands.[14] Wrapped in a cozy gray jumper and twisting his protective feather charm looped around his neck, the boy gave Crowley a concerned look. Like he was searching for the right thing to say. Finally, Warlock finished his toast and wrapped the demon in a hug.

"Morning," he murmured, his words muffled by his face buried in Crowley's chest. "Did you get any sleep, Nanny?"

"Afraid not. Didn't seem wise."

"Worried about sleep teleporting?"

Hugging the boy tight, Crowley said, "Something like that. Do you want some actual breakfast? I should get you something."

"I'm not hungry."

Before Crowley could push further, an unexpected scent caught his attention. His head snapped up as he breathed it in. An angel. Not Aziraphale, but definitely an angel. A powerful one. While technically it could be almost anyone, Crowley knew that Heaven was at least pretending to stay away and that would limit the number of angels that it could be.

Sunglasses immediately in place and apple forgotten, he was at the door before he even realized that he'd moved.

Raphael stood right at the entrance of the garden, just outside the property. Leaning on his cane and politely waiting on the other side of the wards. His presence should have been reassuring since Crowley could finally get some answers. But his nerves only worsened, leaving the demon frozen at the door until Warlock took his hand. The pair cautiously approached.

"Aziraphale… Is he…?" asked Crowley, struggling to get the words out.

Every fear, every horrifying nightmare, and every desperate hope warred inside him. He needed to know what happened. He needed to know if Aziraphale was all right. But at the same time, he was terrified of the answer.

It was like that thought experiment with the cat, the box, and the vial of poison that some messed up human put in the box. As long as Crowley didn't know for certain, his angel was both dead and alive at the same time. But as soon as Raphael answered, he would be left with either a living angel or the heartbreaking pain of loss.

"He is stronger than he looks. Or at least, he is very stubborn," he said. "You did well keeping him alive until you summoned me. And it was easier to heal his true form when Zerachiel[15] took care of his corporeal body and ensured that he didn't discorporate while I worked. After we healed the worst of his wounds, I waited a few hours to ensure that he remained stable. But yes, Aziraphale is alive and resting in my healing ward."

Crowley's hand managed to land on the wall next to them. Letting him brace himself when his legs tried to collapse under him. Relief rushed in like a cold flood. Warlock squeezed his arm, whispering frantic words that the demon couldn't seem to properly comprehend.

Alive. Aziraphale was alive. His angel wasn't gone.

That was worth any price. No matter what happened to the demon next, it would be worth it because Aziraphale was alive.

"Can… can I see him first?" asked Crowley, his voice tight.

That was all he wanted. Even just a glimpse. Maybe it was greedy, but he was a demon. He was allowed to be greedy. He just wanted to see Aziraphale one last time. Before he surrendered to whatever fate that the Archangel had in mind.

Nodding cautiously, Raphael said, "As long as the patient continues to rest, there is nothing wrong with him having a visitor."

"Letting a demon into Heaven?" he asked with a breathless chuckle. "What would the other angels say?"

"My healing ward, my rules."

Crowley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he turned towards Warlock. He did feel guilty that his deal would mean that he would be leaving the boy as well. He and Aziraphale told Warlock that they would take care of him. That's what Warlock wanted. For the three of them to be together. But Crowley wouldn't be able to keep that promise. All that he could do was hope that the angel could handle it alone.

Hugging Warlock close, he said, "Listen carefully, hellspawn. I need you to head over to Book Girl's cottage for a while. And yes, I know that you can take care of yourself, you proved that already, but I need you to stay with her and her nerd until one of us comes get you."

Warlock twisted his head to glare stubbornly at him. Crowley tried his best to hide his expression behind his sunglasses. He didn't want to admit to the boy that this would be the last time that he would ever see the kid. Crowley wasn't even certain that he would be able to get the words out because it would feel like a betrayal. Like he was abandoning Warlock again. But he had no choice. The deal with Raphael was the best option out of a lot of horrible outcomes. And after a few moments of glaring, Warlock gave a slight shrug.

"Fine. But you need to take this."

He shoved his iPod into Crowley's hands. The demon could only stare.

"Why?"

"Aziraphale is in Heaven right now. Didn't you always say it's white, quiet, and boring? That's not good for him."

Crowley stiffened at his words. He was right. Aziraphale was somewhere quiet and white. He was in _Heaven_ , the last place that the angel needed to be after they locked him up in that horrible room. There was no way that he would react well to that. Crowley needed to get up there immediately.

* * *

Aziraphale didn't have much experience with sleeping, meaning that regaining consciousness remained a novel event. This time was a slow process. He gradually regained awareness and none of it was particularly pleasant.

Despite his previous unconscious state, Aziraphale still felt exhausted and weak. His corporation ached and felt impossibly heavy. And his true form hurt. Like he'd been carefully stitched back together. But more concerning was the feeling of anxiety scraping across his nerves and clawing its way up his throat for reasons that he couldn't explain. A feeling of being trapped and panicking.

It took a few moments to realize what was wrong. It was too quiet.

His eyes flew open as his breath caught in his constricting chest. And he immediately shot up when he only saw white. Aziraphale vaguely noticed that he was sitting on a narrow bed in the middle of a long room filled with similar empty beds and that he seemed to be dressed in a loose white nightgown. But he couldn't seem to focus on the details. All that he could see what the endless whiteness with the silence roaring in his ears.

Trapped. He was trapped in the blinding whiteness and deafening silence. There was no escape. Anxiety wrapped around him tightly.

Aziraphale needed out. He needed to make it stop. There had to be a way out.

Writing. He needed to keep writing. If he wrote enough, they would let him out. If he corrected all the reports, Gabriel would let him out and he could go save Crowley.

His hand scrambled on the soft surface, but he couldn't find the pen. He needed the pen in order to write the corrections. If he couldn't write, then he couldn't get out. He couldn't escape without the pen. He couldn't leave the white silence. He needed it to stop.

A desperate snap of his fingers gave him a pen, but the miracle sent a sharp spike of intense pain through his true form. But that was fine because he had the pen now. He could write those corrections. All he had to do was keeping writing and he could escape the awful white room and silence. The stack of paper was gone, so he would need to improvise. Aziraphale ignored the pain and tried to write on the white surface under his hands.

Keep writing. Just keep writing. If he did enough, then the silence and whiteness would end. Keep going and the horrible quiet and blinding whiteness would end. He needed to make it end. He needed to get out.

A firm hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping his attempt to write. The touch startled him, leaving Aziraphale blinking as his thoughts stumbled. Then something pressed against his lips. When the angel instinctively opened his mouth, a small object slipped onto his tongue. A sweet and bitter flavor flooded his mouth. The familiar taste of dark chocolate.

Aziraphale focused on the firm and gentle hands moving up to cup his face and the taste of expensive dark chocolate. He focused on his senses of touch and taste. The tight pressure around his chest began to ease. And the longer that he focused on the intruding sensations, the more that he noticed the rest of his surroundings. A calming and soothing voice and a figure dressed in black kneeling in front of him.

Crowley.

"That's it. There you go, angel," he murmured, his hand brushing back Aziraphale's hair. "I've got you. Done trying to write on the sheets?"

Smiling as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Crowley's forehead, Aziraphale said, "Thank you, my dearest. I hope that I didn't worry you too much."

"Me? Worried? That's your job."

Then, pulling back slightly, Crowley snapped his fingers. Curtains, like those once used to partition off sections of a hospital wing, formed around the narrow bed. Creamy yellow curtains that blocked the view of the rest of the room. Aziraphale could feel his anxiety melting away.

Unfortunately, calming down made it harder to ignore the renewed pain.

"What did you do to yourself?"

Aziraphale jolted in surprise as an unfamiliar angel summoned a stool next to the bed,[16] sitting down while resting his cane next to them. The clinical way that he Looked at Aziraphale was rather uncomfortable. Nor was he comfortable with the idea of a strange angel that close to his demon.

Who was currently in Heaven. While he was starting to remember how he got hurt and the immediate aftermath, Aziraphale had some serious questions about why he and Crowley were in Heaven at the moment.

"Aziraphale? Raphael," said Crowley briskly, moving to sit on the bed next to him. "Raphael? Aziraphale."

"You tore one of your wounds back open." Raphael shook his head disapprovingly. "Idiot. You tried a miracle, didn't you? I suppose I'll need to fix that again. I would prefer to have your actual permission this time since you're conscious to give consent."

It was always dangerous, making himself vulnerable like that. Opening himself up enough for another angel to use miracles directly on him. In the past, he would try to reassure himself that it was Heaven and he could trust his fellow angels. But even then, he knew the possible dangers that he didn't want to admit. Someone could just as easily destroy him or manipulate him with their powers as they could heal him. It took trust to allow someone that kind of power over him. And Aziraphale knew that he couldn't trust most of Heaven.

But Crowley was next to him. And he could trust the demon's judgement. He turned towards Crowley with a questioning look.

Taking the angel's hand and brushing his thumb across his knuckles, Crowley whispered, "It's fine. I made a deal with him to heal you. You can trust him to finish the job."

Raphael frowned briefly, but Aziraphale gave a slow nod. Crowley said it would be all right. And Raphael was a healer. The greatest healer in Heaven. While he'd been disillusioned about most of the other angels, healers weren't generally known to be combative by nature. They had gentler reputations. Raphael probably wouldn't attack.

He didn't completely trust the Archangel that he'd only heard a few stories about, but he did trust Crowley. And Crowley said it would be safe.

Squeezing the demon's hand, Aziraphale lowered all of his defenses to make himself vulnerable for the Archangel to do what he wanted.

Aziraphale didn't have much experience when it came to having his true form healed. When he was forced to heal Crowley while in Hell, he'd mostly poured as much healing energy into the demon as possible. A powerful miracle to strengthen and heal in a very generalized fashion. What Raphael did when he pressed a hand to Aziraphale's chest and pushed in with celestial energy felt stronger, but also more precise and controlled. Like a scalpel instead of a sledgehammer. Except less destructive.

It didn't hurt, but it felt very strange and uncomfortable. Aziraphale couldn't even describe the sensation of another angel's powers slipping into him, carefully reaching for that sharper pain and pressing the torn edges back together. Sealing the wound like celestial stitches.

"There you go," said Raphael as he finally withdrew his power. "At least it was one of the shallower ones. And apologies for before. I was not informed that your surroundings would cause you that level of distress." He pulled his hand away from the other angel. "Now, listen to me carefully. You will remain in my healing ward until at least some time tomorrow. Then, if nothing goes wrong and as long as you remain in a calm and restful environment for the next two weeks of your recovery, you can return to Earth. It might even be better for the majority of your recovery time to be spent somewhere less stressful for you than Heaven. But you are absolutely forbidden to use miracles for at least a month. I will not have my hard work undone by sheer recklessness or impatience. You will follow these orders to the letter or else you will spend the entirety of your recovery under my direct supervision in my healing ward. And you will not enjoy a second of it. Do I make myself clear?"

Giving a slow nod, Aziraphale leaned slightly closer to Crowley. The sharper pain might have eased, but the rest of the aches and the weariness remained. Crowley might be able to tempt him into an actual nap. Sleep seemed like a wonderful idea.

Climbing back to his feet, his cane clicking slightly on contact with the floor, Raphael said, "I have to make my rounds. I don't know what you two get up to when you're alone on Earth and I don't care as long as you don't attempt anything to strenuous. I will be back later to check on my patient."

As Raphael disappeared behind the yellow curtains, Crowley curled his arm around the angel. Aziraphale smiled back tiredly as the demon reached up to run his fingers through the angel's hair a few times. It felt nice. And he could feel the demon's gaze through his sunglasses. Just like he could sense the bright and familiar love radiating from Crowley in warm and comforting waves.

"I almost lost you," said Crowley, barely breathing out the words. He brushed a soft kiss to Aziraphale's forehead. "I couldn't do anything about it. So please, I really need you to stay out of trouble, angel. It's a bit stressful for everyone."

"I'm sorry to worry you, my dearest."

Not that it was really his fault. How could Aziraphale have predicted that a Duke of Hell would show up to stab him? No one could have foreseen that.[17] But now was not the time to point out that logical fact. Not when Crowley was clearly upset and overwhelmed with relief. He needed a moment to reassure himself.

"Not worried," mumbled Crowley, convincing absolutely no one. "Just… You need to be careful. What if I'm not there next time to pull you out of danger?"

Smiling tiredly, he said, "You've never let me down before and I highly doubt that you ever will."

Crowley didn't say anything. Instead, he simply tightened his hold on the angel for a brief moment. A tight and slightly shaking hug. Then he slowly pulled something out of his pocket.

"Warlock sent this. He thought you could use some music while you were up here," he said unsteadily.

He fumbled around with the small device for a moment. Then, rather than putting the tiny speakers in the angel's ears, Crowley draped the wires across Aziraphale's shoulders while putting the music player in a newly-formed breast pocket on his nightgown. The faint music played just loud enough to be heard on the edge of his awareness. Ensuring that the awful silence would not return.

"Come on," said Crowley quietly. He gently pushed Aziraphale back down on the narrow bed. "You heard the doc. You need your rest."

Aziraphale settled back down as the demon tugged the white sheet over him. The creamy white curtains around the bed and the quiet music kept the feeling of anxiety at bay. Crowley curled up on the edge of the bed next to him, though Aziraphale wasn't certain how he fit. But he did, balanced on the tiniest amount of space. With the angel on his back and tucked in comfortably, Crowley was on his side with one arm curled protectively over him.

"Go to sleep, Aziraphale. You'll be safe. I'll keep an eye on you," said Crowley. Hesitantly, he whispered, "Could you… could you please… could you say…?"

Smiling as he closed his eyes, Aziraphale murmured, "I love you, Crowley. And thank you."

He felt a tiny shiver from the demon. But he didn't say anything further. And despite Aziraphale's general disinterest in sleep, his weariness pulled him back under.

* * *

Crowley remained curled up on the edge of the narrow bed, watching his angel sleep. He rarely had the chance to see Aziraphale asleep. He might be able to occasionally coax the angel into a nap in the last couple of years, but it remained a rare event. It was nice. Seeing him that peaceful and relaxed. And he was taking the opportunity to study ever inch of Aziraphale's restful face and breathe in his comforting scent. Memorizing every part of his corporation and then Looking over the angel's true form, noting the healing wounds that Raphael had fixed. Then repeating the entire process again.

Crowley couldn't help examining him in every way. He already knew every part of Aziraphale. But it would be his last chance to see his angel. He refused to squander even a moment.

Maybe a few minutes passed or perhaps a few hours. But eventually footsteps and the tap of a cane approached and the curtains moved. Raphael gave them both appraising looks and Looks as Crowley slowly sat up.

"Time's up?" asked Crowley, trying to give him a wry grin even as it felt like something inside him was sinking fast.

Leaning on his cane, Raphael said, "I thought that we should take care of a few matters while the patient is resting. It might be less stressful for all involved. And since I would rather not disturb his sleep during his recovery, perhaps it would be better if we conduct this business elsewhere."

Crowley swallowed hard. Time to uphold his half of the bargain. Raphael saved Aziraphale. His angel survived. He was healing and would go home soon. Aziraphale would get to live. Raphael did exactly what Crowley requested. Which meant that his life was forfeit. It belonged to the Archangel to do as he saw fit.

Execution. Imprisonment. Torture. By Raphael, by the other angels, or by Hell. The details didn't matter. Crowley had a general idea of what was coming.

Giving a small nod, Crowley whispered, "I'm coming."

He reached over and straightened the white sheet covering Aziraphale. Demonic miracles turned out to be more difficult to perform in Heaven. The curtains around the bed, offering his angel privacy and a splash of color to sooth him, were tricky enough to produce and made him glad that he brought the piece of dark chocolate from Earth.[18] But Crowley put in the effort to shift Aziraphale into a comfortable set of soft flannel pajamas. And he used the opportunity to stealthily sneak his folded letter into the angel's hand.

Leaving Aziraphale was almost physical and metaphysically painful. It was certainly emotional agony. But Crowley managed to force his body to obey.

He hadn't paid much attention to his surroundings on the way in, too concerned with reaching Aziraphale. Now he could notice things. Other than his miracled curtains, the healing ward wasn't partitioned off. There were neat empty beds arranged in neat lines along the length of the long white room, but no privacy. Maybe because angels weren't supposed to need it or because most would actually be comforted by the familiar emptiness of the larger space since most of Heaven was like that. Either way, Crowley could see that there were no other patients currently occupying the beds. A few other angels walking around who were clearly other healers and who gave him a suspicious look, but no other patients.

There were a few doors near where they came in. Pausing briefly to speak quietly to an angel with straight black hair and observant eyes, Raphael led him into a smaller room. Relatively speaking. A white room with a pale couch, an armchair, a low cot, a white filing cabinet, and a wooden stool. The vast majority of the furniture packed into the relatively small space offered places to sit. Which Raphael seemed intent on using immediately, gesturing for Crowley to sit on the cot while he moved the stool right next to it.

"I asked Zadkiel[19] to keep an eye on things for a while. She'll let me know if anything happens with Aziraphale," said Raphael. "Have a seat. I will try to make this quick."

So not Hell or the other angels. Raphael intended to do the job himself. Crowley fought the urge to run away. Every instinct shrieked at him to escape, but he couldn't. Aziraphale was still healing and he couldn't risk his angel by breaking their deal. Which meant that Crowley sat down on the cot, fighting with everything that he had to stay still.

"I suppose this entire situation is a bit stressful for you, so let's not draw it out. If you would allow me to proceed, I promise that it won't hurt," he continued in a clinical tone. "There may be some discomfort, but no pain."

No pain. Crowley smiled wryly. A healer's kindness. Hell or the other angels wouldn't have been that kind. They would want him screaming during his destruction. At least Raphael was treating it like a mercy killing. No violence, suffering, or fear. Just reach into the demon's true form and end it.

He closed his eyes and lowered all of his natural defenses. Giving Raphael complete access to do whatever he wished. It was the demonic or angelic equivalent of tilting back his head to bare his throat, making it easier to slit if someone wanted to try it. As open and vulnerable as possible.

Keeping his eyes shut, Crowley thought about Aziraphale. He thought about the first time that he saw the angel on the wall of Eden. He remembered the first time that he saw Aziraphale smile. Crowley pictured that moment as vividly as possible. That's all that he wanted to think about. His angel smiling at him.

He tried not flinch in surprise when Raphael's hand pressed against his chest. Then Crowley also felt the Archangel reaching into his true form.

And it might as well be the Angel of Death himself there to claim him.

* * *

10 He'd had his sunglasses on earlier, but he'd misplaced them at some point during his heartbroken tears and mental spiral. [ ↑ ]

11 Warlock didn't technically know how to drive yet and certainly not legally. But he'd played enough video games that he had a general idea. And the Bentley had been on the road long enough that it knew better than to let him crash. [ ↑ ]

12 Warlock knew better than to leave supernatural weaponry lying around where anyone could stumble on it. [ ↑ ]

13 There were more modern materials available, but Aziraphale always had a soft spot for more traditional methods. [ ↑ ]

14 The trio tended to keep fresh fruit available for snacks. Warlock was a growing boy, after all, and Anathema made certain to remind the pair that locally-grown fruits and vegetables were an important part of a healthy diet. Apples were a particular household favorite. [ ↑ ]

15 Zerachiel was an angel of healing, one who was often charged to look after mortals more closely than most and mildly fond of children. But they were also rather judgmental and would have complained more about helping to heal the traitor to Heaven if it wasn't for the fact that they were a healer. Being a healer came with certain obligations. Also, they would never argue when Raphael gave them an order. [ ↑ ]

16 The last time that Gabriel tried to lecture Raphael about frivolous miracles, he walked out of the healing ward with a limp of his own. [ ↑ ]

17 Agnes Nutter did, but that particular prophecy had long since been reduced to ash. Which also didn't surprise the dead witch. [ ↑ ]

18 They'd figured out that when Aziraphale started having issues with a space being too white or quiet, the best way to pull him out of it was to appeal to his other senses. Touch was usually fairly effective, but it worked better to address multiple senses. And the delicious taste of gourmet-level dark chocolate was something that Heaven could never match. [ ↑ ]

19 Zadkiel was not technically a healer. She was not created specifically for that purpose. She was an archangel[20] of freedom, benevolence, and mercy. Furthermore, she was the patron angel of all who forgive. But Raphael had borrowed her during the War when he needed as many angels as possible to assist him and she simply never left. And she had a good head on her shoulders, could keep calm during a crisis, learned more precise healing methods quickly, and benevolence and mercy were both good traits to possess when it came to caring for the injured and dying. [ ↑ ]

20 There was a difference between Archangel and archangel. And not just a lack of capitalization for the latter. The two terms didn't sound as similar in the original language. [ ↑ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the cliffhanger, but it was the ideal place to stop. And because watching people squirm from cliffhangers amuses me. It makes people scream in the comments and call me a monster.


	3. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is concerned about Crowley, though there doesn't seem to be too many people who think that Raphael is about to execute him. Then there are those who have realized the real issue. Whether or not Raphael intends the demon harm, Crowley's actions are not going to go over well with Aziraphale…

Aziraphale didn't immediately know what woke him up. He blinked awake to see the creamy yellow curtains and hear the quiet music from Warlock's music player. But then he noticed the faint chill. The absence of an arm curled over him and a warm body pressed against him.

Crowley.

He pushed himself up, searching for the missing demon. But the shift in position dislodged a folded sheet of paper, drawing his attention to it. He blinked in confusion. Not only was Crowley missing, but there was a letter and he was abruptly wearing a set of tartan pajamas. Azirpahale had his suspicions on the source of the clothes and the letter.

After brushing his hand briefly along the flannel fabric, Aziraphale turned over the letter. A wax seal with the familiar impression from a signet ring that Crowley once used. Aziraphale would recognize the elaborate "C" anywhere. The demon used to send all their correspondences like that back when that was the style.

Though the color back then had always been the professional shade of red. Not this time. The wax was a dark green shade. A color that meant it was a private letter. Or sometimes it signified lovers who lived in hope. Either meaning brought a smile to his face.

Until he noticed a secondary color mixed in. Subtle, but definitely present. A little bit of black with the dark green. Black wax was meant for mourning or obituaries.

His throat tightening as an unknown fear squeezed in his chest, he carefully opened the letter.

_Aziraphale,_

_I don't know when I started to love you. Maybe it was at the very beginning, when you told me that you gave away your sword and then sheltered me under your wing. That's certainly when I realized how special you were. You deserve to be loved and cherished for the entirety of those six thousand years that we've know each other. But if I can be honest, I can't actually pinpoint the exact moment that I began to love you. It was a slow and gradual thing, growing with every meeting, every smile, and every exchanged word. I loved you long before I realized it. And those feelings are woven throughout every part of me. Losing them, losing_ _**you** _ _, would rip me apart until there was nothing left of me. That's how vital you are to me._

_You are the kindest, bravest, most clever, and most wonderful angel to ever exist. You're also stubborn, fussy, frustrating, have a tendency to ignore common sense when faced with good food, can't stay out of trouble for five minutes, and you couldn't sell one of your books to save your life. And I love you for that too._

_I know that you love me, even if I can't sense it like you can sense my love. You demonstrate it in so many ways, big and small. You stood with me at the end of the world. You faced my execution to protect me. You marched out of Heaven and straight into Hell to pull me out of danger. But you also invited me to lunch in Rome. You gave me holy water even when you were scared. You smile at me in a way that you don't smile for anyone else. You spend every night in bed with me to guard me from nightmares. You tell me that you love me when I need that reassurance or even when I just want to hear the words. And you were my best friend through the ages, even when you had every reason to reject a demon._

_I don't think that I can ever fully explain how precious you are to me._

_The worst moment in my entire existence was during the Nope-mageddon when I thought you were gone forever. It was worse than the Fall. Losing you is my worst nightmare. Literally. Specifically, losing you and it being because of me. From me making a mistake or simply being unable to save you. I would do anything in my power to protect you and keep you safe because I love you and I cannot bear the idea of losing you like that._

_You told me that you never wanted me to die for you. And I tried to find another way save you. But I wasn't strong enough to heal what Hastur did and I needed a way to convince Raphael to do the job. The only thing that I could offer was myself._

_I'm not sure what will happen next, but I don't want you or the humans to try mounting a rescue. There's no guarantee that there will be anything left to rescue. I may be imprisoned in Heaven, end up in Hell, or be immediately destroyed. I hope that they don't make you watch. But whatever happens, it's fine. Please don't fight it. I made my choice. And chose to protect our side. To protect you._

_Tell Warlock that I'm sorry that I left you both and take care of him. You can't give up on everything just because I'm gone. The kid still needs you. And we worked too hard trying to save the world for you not to enjoy it. I need you to keep going. Go to plays, eat expensive meals, drink fine wine, hoard old books, and marvel over humanity's ingenuity and imaginative ideas._

_I need you to find a way to be happy. I didn't write this letter to hurt you or make you miserable. I wanted to make certain that you would always know how much that you are loved and cherished. I wanted you to know how amazing and wonderful you are. And I wanted to make certain that you never forget or doubt how much I love you, even when I'm not there to remind you._

_If someone ever tries to make you feel like you're worthless, this letter is physical proof of how important you are and how much you are treasured. Never let Heaven, Hell, or humanity make you forget that._

_Never forget how precious and special you are, angel._

_I will always love you. With all my heart and every piece of my condemned true demonic self. And even if I am unforgivable by my very nature, I hope you'll forgive me someday for leaving you. Once, I told you that I would never leave you. And I'm sorry that turned out to be a lie. Because I never wanted to leave you, but I had to. Because I love you so much, Aziraphale. And you are worth far more than you can possibly imagine._

_\- Crowley_

Aziraphale was shaking by the time that he finished the letter. Horror and denial clawed their way up his throat. He couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true.

He wouldn't let it be true.

Aziraphale reached desperately with his more angelic senses. Hoping with all of his heart, but terrified of what he would find. Or what he wouldn't find. Because he couldn't bear the idea of a gaping absence where Crowley's love should be.

And when Aziraphale sensed Crowley's bright and warm love, he nearly wept with relief. He was still alive. He wasn't gone yet.

Not yet.

The fear and heartache transformed into a protective fury. As soft as he was, Aziraphale began as a warrior and a guardian. He was created to protect. And someone that he loved was in danger.

He couldn't lose Crowley.

Aziraphale was on his feet. He didn't remember standing. The angel reached for his sword, ignoring the fact that the weapon was in the umbrella stand in the cottage. It answered his call regardless. He faintly noticed the return of pain, but didn't care.

Crowley was in danger. He needed to save him before it was too late. He needed to reach Crowley before he lost him forever.

* * *

Raphael wasn't lying. There was no pain, but it was uncomfortable to have the Archangel reaching into his true form. Crowley couldn't help shivering from the sensation. He kept his eyes shut, trying to visualize Aziraphale instead of thinking about what was happening. Any moment now and the strange unnerving sensation would give way to his destruction. Raphael would either destroy some vital part of his true self or extinguish his _Breath_.[21] And Crowley didn't want to think about it. No reason to make his last few seconds worse.

Crowley winced slightly as he felt something. An almost gentle tugging. No pain, but completely unnerving.

"You managed to cause some impressive damage not that long ago," said Raphael calmly. "Some form of intense and prolong strain. And your efforts yesterday ended up exacerbating that previous damage."

Opening his eyes cautiously, Crowley croaked, "What?"

"Someone apparently tried to heal you and they managed to help, but that seemed to be more of a generalized healing," he continued. "And perhaps that would have been enough if you didn't keep pushing yourself. By now, if you want your true form to heal properly and regain your normal level of strength, you'll need to have that strain damage properly treated. Otherwise, you end up with faint scarring at various points of tension. Not enough to bleed over into your corporation, but it'll hinder you when it comes to larger-scale miracles."

"Treated?" he asked, his voice almost shaking.

Raphael looked up from where he'd been staring intently, too focused on the demon's true form before. He frowned at Crowley's expression before gaining a look of realization and pulling away his power. Crowley couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief.

"I asked permission to proceed," said Raphael carefully. "You allowed me access to your true form. Did you not understand what I intended?"

"I… The deal was that you could do whatever you wanted," he said, slow and uncertain. "You… You were going to destroy me. That was the deal."

"We have no deal."

Those simple words stole the breath from his corporation. He didn't even comprehend what he was hearing. He made a deal with the Archangel. His life in exchange for Aziraphale's life being saved. His angel was alive, so Crowley was supposed to…

"You released me from the circle before we had any formal agreement," said Raphael evenly. "I never told you that I accepted your offer. And even if I chose to accept your deal, there is no reason to assume that what I want would be your destruction. For Her sake, I'm healer, not an executioner. Besides, I thought demons were supposed to be _good_ with loopholes."

Not always. Not when Crowley was scared, desperate, and frantic. Not when he was cradling his dying angel in his arms and hundreds of nightmarish scenarios were flashing through his head. When he was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown, it was almost impossible to focus closely enough to decipher possible loopholes.

"If you don't want to kill me," said Crowley slowly, "what do you want with me?"

"I want to heal you," he said. "I'm a healer and you are my patient at the moment. Both of you are. And if you would accept my offer with a proper understanding this time of what I intend, I would like to finish repairing and strengthening your true form. The places where it has been strained thin in the past. It shouldn't take long and I can promise that you won't feel any pain."

Crowley stared at him silently for a few moments. Trying to wrap his head around the idea. There was no reason to assume that Raphael was lying. The Archangel had been reaching into his true form and could have snuffed him out already. Raphael could have done anything to him already. But he didn't. He'd even withdrawn his power when he realized the demon's misunderstanding, giving him a chance to agree properly or decline. While everything that Crowley knew told him not to trust any angel except Aziraphale, there was a decent chance that Raphael meant it.

His natural defenses remained lowered from before, leaving him open and vulnerable. And after another moment of consideration, Crowley gave a small nod. A true agreement with an actual understanding of what was being offered. He shivered as Raphael reached back into his true form.

"None of this is as bad as Aziraphale's wounds were. You are mostly healed from the initial event," he described absently, the unnerving tugging sensation back. "I am mostly smoothing things out and fixing a few places. Minimizing scarring and long-term effects. Though it looks like someone fixed a few deep lacerations with barely a trace."

Grinning nervously, Crowley said, "Yeah, my last visit to Hell wasn't fun. Adam fixed where Satan's claws poked holes in me though."

"Not one of the normal stories that you hear about the Anti-Christ," he said.

"He's a good kid. Likes the world. Doesn't want it destroyed."

Small talk. Crowley couldn't believe that he was making small talk with an Archangel while the angel had his power buried into his true form. The entire situation felt surreal.

Then there was light.

A sudden flash of divine power before a bright figure stood in the middle of the room, flaming sword in hand. Teleporting without a clear line of sight or a proper method of zeroing in on a destination was reckless. But it was awe-inspiring to see him in a protective rage. He shouldn't have seemed as impressive, dressed in tartan pajamas and with ruffled hair from sleep. But Crowley couldn't help it.

There was nothing quite like seeing his angel in full guardian mode.

Then, seeing Raphael firmly entrenched in the demon's true form in a way that could end very badly, Aziraphale _moved_. In an instant, the angel was between them, the stool immediately shoved away by the Archangel knowing how to recognize an intense situation. The angel's back was to Crowley as Aziraphale faced towards the potential threat. He held his sword defensively in front of him. A clear and undeniable demonstration that Raphael would not touch the demon.

"Did no one listen when I told you no miracles?" snapped the Archangel. "Does no one listen to a word that I say?"

"You can't have him," said Aziraphale, his voice steady and firm. "I won't let you hurt Crowley. I appreciate your assistance, but I won't let you take him from me."

"It's all right, angel," murmured Crowley, climbing to his feet and reaching his hand for the angel's shoulder.

Refusing to take his eyes away from the Archangel, he said, "I read your letter. I know what he intends to do to you."

"I made a mistake. It's fine." He squeezed Aziraphale's shoulder. "I promise that I'm fine. You can put down the sword."

Aziraphale didn't move. Not yet letting himself relax or lower his guard. He was still trying to protect the demon from harm. But as Crowley peered over his shoulder, he could see the angel starting to tremble.

"Put your sword down this instant," said Raphael, glaring sternly at the angel. "How many miracles did you just perform against my instructions? How badly did you tear open those wounds again? Because you definitely hurt yourself again. Is it too much to ask for you to stop damaging your true form for five minutes?" He shook his head. "I need you to put that down and let me take care of you before you make things worse."

"No," he said shakily. "I won't let him trade his life for mine."

"There _is_ no trade. No deal," said Raphael firmly. "Both of you are painfully frustrating and stubborn, do you know that? Now, please stop panicking and stressing yourself out." When Aziraphale didn't immediately obey, he snapped, "I will not let anyone wave weapons around my healing ward. So for the last time, put down the sword or else I will _force_ you to do so. That is not my preference, but you're being ridiculous and self-destructive."

Trembling and his sword tip starting to waver, Aziraphale said, "You were reaching into his true form. You were trying to…"

"He was just giving me a checkup," said Crowley gently. "I was wrong. I didn't mean to scare you with that letter. He doesn't want to hurt either of us. I'm safe, Aziraphale." Sliding around slowly to the angel's side and reaching for his arm, he said, "Please put down the sword. You're hurting yourself. Let him fix it."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Then he let the weapon fall with a _clatter_ , the flames extinguishing. From his new position, Crowley could see the tightness in his expression. Trying to hide the pain. Crowley felt him wobble before he forced the angel to sit on the cot that he'd just vacated.

"Stubborn idiots. Both of you," complained Raphael, moving his stool closer to his patient. "I would strangle you if I wouldn't just have to heal you afterwards." Staring hard at the angel, he said, "And look at what you've done. That's one of the deeper ones. You managed to tear open at least two of your wounds with that stunt."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Aziraphale as the healer's power slipped into his true form.

"You should be. You're staying in my healing ward for an extra day," he snapped. "And don't even try to argue."

Sitting down next to him, Crowley said, "We'll stay then. Warlock is with Book Girl, so we've got time." He turned his attention towards the concentrating Archangel. "You've got to understand. We both have reason to expect the worst from both Heaven and Hell. Neither of us are exactly popular with our former sides."

No one said anything for a few moments. But the pinched look around Aziraphale's eyes relaxed. The damage and the pain were fading under Raphael's attention.

"Do you know why I need a cane?" asked Raphael eventually. "Scar damage to my true form that bleeds over into my corporation. Getting a new body won't fix it. The new corporation will end up with same problem."[22] Never looking away from his work, he explained, "During the first War, it was sometimes necessary to leave my healing ward to retrieve the wounded and bring them back. Especially those in more serious condition who could not wait for a lull in the fighting. It was a brutal and vicious time. Many angels fell during the War, long before any of them Fell. And during one of those rescue attempts, I was attacked."

He pulled away before turning his attention back towards Crowley. A questioning look from the Archangel and a nod from the demon. Then Raphael's power poured back into Crowley, uncomfortable and cautious. Working carefully to fix the strained damage.

"She used to be a dear friend of mine," he continued. "We were very close until she started listening to Lucifer. Eventually she would Fall with the others, but she was still an angel when I encountered her. But it was the War. And the War had led to cruelties and betrayals that no one could have imagined. My old friend nearly destroyed me, tearing deeply into me before leaving me to die." Raphael glanced up at them. "There is a reason why I could trust Zerachiel not to complain when I asked them to help me heal a known traitor. They found me and managed to save my life back then. But they weren't as experienced at healing such serious wounds. Their work was imperfect and left scars along my true form. I appreciate what they did for me, but they still feel guilty over not doing better and they've been overeager to assist me ever since."

Crowley tried to stop wincing, but the sensation was too unsettling. He felt Aziraphale reach over and squeeze his hand. He couldn't imagine that it would take much longer. He hoped not. But the strange Archangel deciding to take a random trip down memory lane was at least a distraction.

"I remember the cost of the first War. The lives lost. The painful injuries. The betrayals of those who were meant to be friends. And I remember that even victory doesn't erase how many angels that I couldn't save," he continued. "While I am certain that Her Plan will lead us to the proper outcome in the end, I have no complaint if we avoid another War and those losses for a little while longer."

As Raphael withdrew his power and gave a nod of satisfaction, Crowley frowned thoughtfully and asked, "Are you saying that you're… _happy_ that the apocalypse didn't happen?"

"I am pleased that whatever She has in mind with Her Ineffable Plan, it doesn't involve crowding my healing ward with the wounded and dying," he said coolly. "I trust in Her infinite wisdom in regard to when the world should end and now was clearly not the correct time."

Crowley could recognize that careful avoidance and dancing around the topic, not fully committing while still parroting the official company line. Aziraphale had done the same thing for thousands of years. While Raphael was technically supporting the Ineffable Plan, he was also pleased to avoid another War for a little longer. Maybe not for the same reasons that Crowley and Aziraphale wanted to stop the end of the world but he wanted the same thing.

He grinned to himself. A reasonable Archangel. Who would have thought it?

At least there was another potential ally for them, one that Crowley should definitely keep in mind in the future. There was no guessing when it might be useful to have a healer who didn't want them dead.

Aziraphale leaned slightly, drawing Crowley's attention to how drowsy the angel looked. And now that he was paying attention, the demon felt a faint dull ache from where Raphael worked on his true form and a general weariness. Having older injuries healed could clearly be as tiring as the angel's more recent ones.

"You need some more rest, angel," said Crowley, wrapping an arm around him protectively.

The door flung open with a loud bang, letting the angel from early rush in. She seemed frantic as her eyes locked on Raphael, clearly not paying attention to anyone else.

"He's gone. I'm sorry. You told me to watch your patient, but he disappeared," she said quickly.

"Zadkiel," said Raphael, his firm tone making her freeze. He gestured towards Aziraphale and Crowley. "I've seemed to have located the missing patient. I just finished giving them both a brief examination. Would you be so kind as to escort them back to his bed?"

She ducked her head briefly with an embarrassed grimace. Then she nodded before opening the door for them. Crowley helped Aziraphael to his feet, his hand brushing reassuringly at the twin sensitive places on the angel's back[23] and making him shiver. Then they followed the dark-haired angel back towards the bed hidden by curtains, Warlock's iPod and the letter still on the bed.

"If you would please stay here for the rest of your recovery," said Zadkiel, "and _not_ randomly teleport away, that would be nice."

Then she pulled the curtain back around them and walked away, her footsteps easy to follow. Some of the tension that Crowley had barely noticed before began to ease. He might be starting to accept Raphael wasn't a threat, but that didn't mean that he was going to trust some random angel just because she worked for him.

"'M not nice," muttered Crowley as he settled Aziraphale back down on the narrow bed before curling around him.

There wasn't much room on the bed for both of them. But a demon performing miracles in Heaven was more difficult and Aziraphale would _not_ be trying anything else for a while. It just wasn't worth the effort to miracle up anything better. Crowley would just have to press himself close to his angel.

Oh, what a hardship.

Wrapping an arm around the demon, Aziraphale said, "Yes, you're a real menace." He twisted around until he could tuck Crowley's head under his chin. "But you're _my_ menace. And if you ever try to pull something like that again…"

"Sorry, angel. Didn't mean to upset you." Nuzzling closer, he said, "But you're still here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Aziraphale tightened his hold on him. But after a while, his grip relaxed as the weary angel drifted off. Crowley wished that he could join him properly. He wished that he could doze off, curled against his angel and wrapped in his arms. But they were still in Heaven. As drowsy as he might feel, Crowley needed to stay awake and keep watch. He needed to keep Aziraphale safe.

* * *

21 There was no exact human word in any language that could serve as a direct translation. It had nothing to do with the act of drawing oxygen into lungs. It had to do more with the way that She had taken primordial fire, light, and air, spun them together into new shapes, and _Breathed Life_ into the deepest core at the center of Her angels' true forms. When angels or demons spoke of _Breath_ , they didn't mean anything to do with their corporations. That form of _Breath_ somehow combined the connotations of "life," "existence," and "the burning brightness at the center of their true self." [ ↑ ]

22 Rather like Crowley's serpentine eyes. He would always have them, regardless of which corporation that he had. If he'd stayed in Aziraphale's body long enough, those eyes would have eventually changed as well. [ ↑ ]

23 The two spots where his wings would manifest. Where the barrier between the physical and the metaphysical was the thinnest. [ ↑ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. No one is dead or gone. I'm not completely evil. And Raphael isn't a horrible person. Just a grumpy one who keeps dealing with people who frustrate him.


	4. Returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to start wrapping things up. I'm glad that everyone enjoyed this small story and the headaches that poor Raphael had to deal with. Hopefully this ending will be equally satisfying.

Aziraphale had started to get a handle on sleeping. It still didn't come naturally to him and he certainly didn't enjoy it the same way that Crowley did, but he was getting better at letting himself doze off and then waking up without too much panicked confusion. Waking up would probably always be somewhat disorienting afterwards. But the whole thing was easier. Sleep could occasionally be relaxing if he tried it next to his demon.

But nothing could prepare him to be awakened by a loud voice and Crowley scrambling off the narrow bed. That would always be a rough wake-up call.

"Where _are_ they?"

Aziraphale managed to sit up and Crowley was standing defensively in front of him by the time a miracle wrenched the creamy yellow curtains open. Gabriel's eyes narrowed as soon as he spotted them. The Archangel's posture straightened as he marched in their direction, aggressive and forceful.

Crowley tensed and Aziraphale desperately wondered where he left his sword this time.[24] The angel ignored the aching feeling to his true form. He knew he shouldn't perform any miracles, but he wouldn't leave Crowley to defend them both on his own. But a sharp bark of an order made Gabriel halt as suddenly as if someone nailed his feet to the floor.

" _Stop_."

Gabriel staggered, trying to remain upright when his legs refused to move further. Then he craned his neck around. Trying to follow the sound of a cane _banging_ firmly as Raphael stalked forward. The healer limped slightly, but his back was straight and his expression remained firm. He moved like an angel on a mission. Despite Gabriel's height, Raphael seemed to loom over him.

"Do you know who they are, Raphael?" he asked, "Aziraphale—"

"—is my patient," said Raphael coolly.

Blinking as his mind almost visibly rebooted, Gabriel said, "But… But he's… and the other is…"

"The other one is also my patient. Both are recovering nicely and should be discharged before long. Thank you for your concern though."

"But Aziraphale is a traitor to Heaven," he said, as if that explained everything. "A traitor invulnerable to _hellfire_."

"He wasn't brought to my healing ward because of hellfire wounds, Gabriel. But that doesn't not mean that he can't be injured or almost discorporated by other means. Thankfully, I can treat wounds from a wide variety of sources. Besides, his injuries are no longer a concern and I intend to discharge him tomorrow."

"That's _not_ what I meant, Raphael."

Crowley carefully sat down next to Aziraphale, though the angel could still feel the tension in the demon's body. Ready to snap forward if necessary. But he was sitting beside him on the narrow bed, the pair exchanging uncertain and bemused looks. It certainly wasn't playing out the way that they expected. Though part of Aziraphale rather appreciated seeing Gabriel off-balanced.

"You can't just heal a known traitor," continued Gabriel. "That's not what proper angels would do."

Raising an eyebrow and shaking his head, Raphael said, "No, _you_ can't just heal a known traitor. You have many talents, but healing isn't one of them. You were never that good with healing miracles. And you never practiced them to improve in over six thousand years. I, on the other hand, am quite skilled at healing and can heal both of my patients just fine."

"You're being purposefully obtuse."

"Yes, I am," he said simply, leaning heavily on his cane. "What did you expect? You came in here, to _my_ healing ward, yelling and disturbing my patients. Did you expect me to be happy about it?"

Sputtering slightly, Gabriel said, "But… but what about the other one? The demon, Crowley? We can't have demons just wandering around Heaven whenever they want?"

"Unless they're delivering hellfire for shady executions," muttered Crowley under his breath.

"He's not wandering around aimlessly. Crowley is in my healing ward at my invitation," said Raphael firmly.

Shifting his weight, as if trying to free his feet, Gabriel snapped, "He's a demon. He should be smited. Or at least discorporated."

The movement was fast. Aziraphale almost missed how it happened. But Raphael shifted his weight to his good leg, freeing his cane. Which he swung low and hard. It connected with the back of Gabriel's legs, sending him to crash down hard on his knees. Then the healer caught himself with his cane before he could stumble, unconcerned by the yelp of pain from his fellow Archangel.

"Why do you keep _doing_ that?" snarled Gabriel.

"Because you keep saying stupid things to me," he snapped back.

That startled a laugh out of Crowley. One that the demon didn't even try to muffle, earning a vicious glare from Gabriel. At least Aziraphale was polite enough to resist the urge to laugh at his former boss to his face.[25]

"I already told you that _both_ of them are my patients continued Raphael. "And yet you keep talking about harming them. No one is allowed to harm my patients. You should know better than that, Gabriel. No one hurts my patients."

"But—"

"Get out and stay out," he interrupted. "I don't want to see you here again unless you are hurt. Otherwise, you'll soon be in need of my healing. Do we have an understanding?"

Gabriel opened his mouth, but no words came out. Raphael twitched his head towards the exit. And whatever force held him in place before seemed to release him, letting Gabriel stomp his way out.

"Angel, you'll always be my favorite," said Crowley quietly, "but I think we've found the second tolerable angel in Heaven."

Taking his hand and squeezing it, Aziraphale smiled at him. The tension slowly melted out of both of them. The danger had passed without touching them.

Everything was fine. They were safe. Aziraphale's grave wounds were healing and there was no threat to Crowley. All would be well. The angel held onto that thought as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across the demon's hand. There was no danger. No threat to either of them.

Raphael waited until Gabriel was gone before slumping tiredly. He reached with his free hand to rub at his leg, a subtle miracle that could barely sense. Then he turned and hobbled over to them.

"I'm very sorry about that disturbance," said Raphael, miracling up a stool and almost collapsing on it. He kept rubbing at his leg as he rested in his seat. "I should have known that rumors would eventually spread and get back to Gabriel. But he knows better than to interfere in my healing ward. He won't bother you for the rest of your recovery."

"So, can you do that to anyone in here?" asked Crowley. "Make them do whatever you want like you did to make Gabriel stop? Or just angels?"

"If they are in my healing ward, I can exert my will on them. Though I prefer not to do so outside of emergencies where I need them to let me heal them and they are not in any state to give proper consent. Or to keep them from harming themselves or others," he said tiredly. "It is not something that I would ever do casually. And I don't know if it would work on a demon in my healing ward. You're one of the first that I've invited in here."

Crowley smirked slightly, as if proud of the achievement. Aziraphale leaned in closer to him.

Pausing briefly as he Looked Aziraphale over, he added, "And thank you for not doing something dumb and hurting yourself again. If you continue to demonstrate that type of sense, you might get to go home tomorrow."

Smiling as he also leaned towards the angel and squeezed his hand, Crowley said, "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on him."

"You always have," said Aziraphale quietly.

Giving them both a nod, Raphael said, "Try to take it easy for the rest of the day. Calm and quiet." He glanced briefly at Warlock's music player, a soft song still drifting out. "Or at least relative quiet. I'll look in on you later to check how you are doing and Zadkiel will be near by if you need anything."

He moved slowly, but Raphael climbed back to his feet with a slight grimace and carefully head towards the far end of the healing ward. Crowley stood up briefly to pull the curtains around the bed again. Then he slithered back into the narrow bed.

"Did you get any sleep?" asked Aziraphale, carefully noting his expression and posture.

"Someone needed to keep watch," he mumbled. He let his head sink until it rested on the angel's shoulder, breathing in his scent and relaxing a little. "And I didn't want to risk it. Haven't slept since everything happened."

Reaching up and running a hand through the demon's hair, Aziraphale said, "Well, I'm awake now." Then he reached over to touch the frames of Crowley's sunglasses. "May I?"

Crowley gave the tiniest nod as he lifted his head again. Aziraphale slid them off to reveal tired, relieved, and adoring golden eyes. He smiled at the angel and Aziraphale felt the familiar wave of warm love from the demon. Crowley let the angel guide him down and shift around until his head rested on Aziraphale's lap.

"No nightmares," murmured Aziraphale, his fingers dragging along the demon's scalp in a slow and rhythmic pattern. "It'll be all right. We're safe. Sleep peacefully, my dearest. I won't let any nightmares touch you."

There was no power behind his words. No miracles. Only a promise to stay and guard his dreams personally. A promise to stay with him.

Aziraphale gently ran his fingers through his hair, letting the repeating motion relax the demon. He could feel the tension melting away under the angel's careful attention. He could feel him relaxing and calming. No longer ready for a threat to appear. Aziraphale continued his efforts as Crowley's breathing grew slower and deeper. After a little while, the demon drifted off to sleep.

They stayed like that for a while, the soft music from Warlock's device and Crowley's quiet breathing breaking the silence. The creamy yellow curtains, the tartan flannel pajamas, and the demon's dark clothes broke up the monotonous white of Heaven. Aziraphale remained grounded and calm as he stayed there. Part of him wished that he had a book to read, but he could handle a few hours without one.

And when Crowley's body grew tense, his breathing hitched, and his sleeping expression darkened, Aziraphale was ready to find his hand. He squeezed it gently before bringing it up. Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's hand.

"I won't leave you, Crowley. I know that I worried you and I'm sorry. But I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

The gesture and the words did exactly as he hoped. Whatever nightmares that might be plaguing Crowley, undoubtedly starring Aziraphale and Hastur's brutal stabbing attempt, were pushed back. He watched the demon settle back down. His furrowed brow smoothed out and his breathing calmed. Aziraphale watched him relax as the angel began running his fingers through his hair again. Guarding his demon's rest.

* * *

Crowley had come to one solid conclusion from everything that happened: Raphael was thorough when it came to his patients.

He forced both of them to go through a very long final examination and made them repeat back his instructions before agreeing to discharge them. Most of the focus was on Aziraphale and his recovery, ensuring that Crowley knew what to watch out for in case of complications. But he still recommended that the demon avoid large-scale demonic miracles for at least a couple of days to be on the safe side. As if he didn't trust them to be careful.[26]

But eventually they were cleared to leave. They returned to their slightly-singed front yard, the same place that Crowley watched Raphael take his angel away. The spot where he thought he would lose Aziraphale permanently.

It must have rained while they were gone. There was no sign left of blood staining the ground.

Crowley didn't dare let him out of his sight. Not quite yet. He needed to keep his angel safe as he finished healing. A few weeks of rest and a month without miracles. Crowley would make certain that it happened. Aziraphale would finish healing in peace.

Safe. He was safe. Safe and healing. And Hastur was gone and wouldn't hurt his angel ever again.

Though that reminded Crowley that eventually he would have to tell Aziraphale about Warlock apparently going out to murder a Duke of Hell. That seemed like the sort of thing that someone should inform the angel about.

Once he settled Aziraphale in the sitting room on the sofa, wrapped him in a fuzzy blanket, pressed a mug of hot cocoa into the angel's hands, stacked a small collection of his favorite books within arm's reach, and tuned the radio to a station playing classical music, Crowley could finally spare enough thought to send a quick text message to Anathema to let her know that they were back. He mostly ignored her frantic response, his mobile quickly filling up with questions sent in all-caps. He didn't feel like explaining anything. But at least she and her nerd knew that they weren't dead or locked up in Heaven. Which meant that they could pass the news along to Warlock. That's all that really mattered.

Warlock made it home quickly enough that Crowley suspected that he ran the entire way and that he'd skipped school that day.[28] He stumbled into the cottage, dropping his backpack by the door before hurrying towards his guardians. Crowley needed to grab Aziraphale's shoulder to keep the angel in his seat. But it didn't matter because Warlock was perfectly content to curl up next to Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around the angel to hug him.

"You're all right," murmured Warlock.

Smiling and patting his back awkwardly, Aziraphale said, "I'm very sorry that you were exposed to that unpleasantness. I didn't mean to upset you."

Somehow Warlock and Crowley managed to snort in unison. The angel had a knack for understatement.

"Doc wants him to take it easy for a while," said Crowley, "but yeah, he's going to be fine."

He sat down next to Aziraphale and Warlock. Once they had a chance to calm down and relax, they would need to consider some additional precautions. The wards around the property worked well, but they needed more. Some kind of detection spell for unwelcome angels or demons. A warning system. One that wouldn't be set off by Aziraphale, Crowley, Adam, or Dog. And they should probably consider a fast and easy method of contacting Raphael in an emergency because the Archangel didn't seem happy about the summoning.

But that could wait. For now, the three of them were curled on the sofa together. Alive and safe. The dread and near loss were mere memories. The lingering wounds were healing. And for now, that was enough.

* * *

24 It remained on the floor of the exam room where Aziraphale dropped it until one of the healers eventually collected it and set the weapon aside with the angel's previously-ruined clothes. [ ↑ ]

25 He would wait until they were both back home and he could relay the story to Warlock. Then he would let himself properly enjoy the moment and share a laugh with them. [ ↑ ]

26 Raphael didn't trust them. Not with regards to their own wellbeing. Between Aziraphale's refusal to stop using miracles while still recovering and Crowley's self-sacrificing tendencies combined with his inability to spot obvious loopholes, he wasn't paid nearly enough to deal with them.[27] [ ↑ ]

27 Celestial wages were only limitedly useful for him anyway. [ ↑ ]

28 Though he did stop briefly to collect the water gun and the infernal dagger from where he hid them, disposing of the holy water before tucking the blade in his backpack. Just in case. [ ↑ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit. I really enjoyed writing Raphael. He was a fun character and I definitely might have to use him again someday. Thanks for reading my fic.


End file.
